Clean Sweep

"Thank you." It was sound advice. I just had no idea how to follow it. "May I trouble you for an introduction to the Blue Falls innkeeper? Perhaps I could call him and ask him for more information about dahakas?"



Mr. Rodriguez shook his head. "I'm sorry, but Blue Falls was destroyed seventeen years ago. One of the guests went on a rampage and murdered the innkeeper and her family. A terrible tragedy."



Umm. So I could be just like that other innkeeper who'd died in a horrible way.



I rose off the bench. "Thank you so much for all your help. I must be going."



"You've driven a long way. Would you like some lunch?"



"No, thank you. I want to get back as soon as possible."



Mr. Rodriguez nodded. "I understand. If there is anything else I can do, don't hesitate to call. I'll help in any way I can."



I started down the path. Oh, shoot, Sean. "Mr. Rodriguez?"



"Yes?"



"Do you know why a particular werewolf would be much stronger than others?"



Mr. Rodriguez smiled and said in the patient voice he'd used with Isabella, "Have you consulted your Creature Guide?"



"I have. It doesn't mention anything relevant."



"Did you inherit it with the inn?"



"Yes. All my books and possessions disappeared with my parents."



Mr. Rodriguez nodded. "It's probably out of date. Before the werewolves blew themselves up, they bred a second generation of combat operatives to hold the gates against the Sun Horde while the population evacuated. They're just like the usual werewolves, except more: stronger, faster, harder to kill, more aggressive, more everything. They aren't too stable, but nobody worried about that at the time since they weren't expected to live. The funny thing is, their makers bred them to survive against overwhelming odds, holding the gates against superior firepower often by pure will, and then were extremely surprised when their creations refused to give up and die at the end. Most of the second generation did perish in the final blast, but several units made it through the gates. They are rare and other werewolves stay away from them. Some would say that they are ostracized or even shunned, others argue that we simply give them the distance and respect that their sacrifice and heroic combat performance demanded. It all depends on who you talk to. If you encounter one, I'd treat them with kid gloves. If they decide you're a threat, they react with sudden and extreme violence and they're very difficult to kill."



*** *** ***



I drove straight home. Of course, I hit a traffic jam on 45. A semi had overturned, clogging both lanes. The radio said no one was seriously hurt, but by the time I finally rolled into the garage, it was dark. The street was empty. Not a single leaf shivered on the old oak in the yard, its branches dripping midnight gloom onto the grass.



The house clanged at my approach, sliding the shutters and locks open. Beast shot out at my feet, dashed left, right, left, and overcome with excitement, zoomed around me in a circle, tucking her hind legs under her as she ran.



"I love you, too, you silly dog."



The doors opened and I stepped inside. The familiar smell of cinnamon floated around me, as the soft lamps came on one by one. I nodded at the portrait of my parents. The pressure that had accreted on my shoulders during the trip vanished. I was home.



I made a cup of coffee and sat in my chair in the lobby. Beast hopped onto my lap.



"Terminal, please."



The wall in front of me fractured, folded back on itself, and revealed the smooth surface of a screen.



"Audio."



Two long speakers emerged from the wall next to the screen.



"Camera footage since I've been gone."



The screen split into four different images. Cars. Two kids on bikes. Wind moving the oak branches. An older woman jogging past --I'd seen her before. She jogged by the house every afternoon, rain or shine. "Fast forward to activity."



The day turned into evening, rather than night. An image on the top left showed a dark figure at the edge of the inn. The timer said eleven twenty-two p.m.



"Enlarge."



The image expanded, taking over most of the screen. The inner camera took up the one third on the right. Sean Evans. He wore a gray T-shirt and loose jeans. He sniffed the air, turned, and looked straight at the camera. His eyes shone like two embers. Very deliberately he took a step forward onto the inn's grounds.



Just what I needed. I sat back and watched the video.



The recording from the inner camera produced a faint sound, a sigh, as the house creaked, preparing to defend itself.



Sean padded around the building, moving lightly on his toes.



On screen Beast dashed down the stairs and squeezed out through the dog door. The image of the outside expanded to cover the entire screen.



Beast paused on the porch for half a second, then sprinted, comically bounding down the stairs. She circled the house and stopped thirty feet from Sean.



He turned to her.



Beast bared little white teeth and barked.



"Look, dog, and I'm using the word dog loosely here. You and I aren't going to have a problem."



Beast barked again, pretending to lunge forward and backing up.



"Go away," Sean said. "Shoo. I don't want to hurt you."



He was sizing up the back door. He must've decided it was the easiest point of entry.



Beast barked again.



"Yeah, whatever." Sean took a step toward the house.



Beast growled. The undertone of her growl changed, gaining a vicious edge. Sean squinted at her.



Beast's long fur stood up like hackles on a cat. Claws slid from her feet. Her mouth gaped, wider and wider, as if her entire head had split in half. Four rows of fangs gleamed inside.



"What the hell...?" Sean backed away.



Beast jumped, covering ten feet in a single leap.



Sean grabbed a young oak branch and jerked it off the tree. Beast launched herself and he swung the branch like a bat, trying to knock her aside. With a sound somewhere between an upset wolverine and a pissed-off bobcat, Beast clamped on to the branch. Sean jerked it back and forth, trying to get her loose. Beast hung on and went airborne. Four rows of teeth crushed the wood --chomp-chomp-chomp --and Sean stumbled back, a stump of a branch in his hand.



Beast landed on her paws and bared her fangs. "Awwwwreeeeeoo!"



"Oh shit."



Sean spun around and ran to the nearest apple tree. Beast howled again and gave chase. He jumped and scrambled up the trunk and into the branches. Beast zoomed around the tree, barking her head off.



Sean braced his legs against the split in the trunk, looking comfortable. Beast sprinted around the trunk, circling it left, then right, in a black-and-white blur.



Sean bared his teeth and snarled. Even watching it on video, the hair on the back of my neck rose. It was the sound of a large, terrifying predator --hungry, savage, and confident --and it touched off some instinctual fear that made me glad to be inside my house with the lights on and doors locked.



A normal dog would've taken off. Beast barked at him, bouncing up and down in the grass.



"Can't climb, huh?" Sean asked in a deep, raspy voice. His eyes shone like two yellow moons. "Too bad."



Beast zoomed around the tree again, stopped, and bit the trunk.



"Quit it!"



She dashed away from the trunk, reversed on a dime, and bit the tree again. Wood chips littered the grass.



"I said quit it! I don't want to hurt you."



"Awwreeeeeeoo. Bark-bark-bark!" She bit the tree and chomped at the wood, spinning around the trunk like a whirlwind of teeth and fur. The tree shuddered.



Sean swore, plucked a small unripe apple from the tree, took aim, and dropped it on her head.



Beast howled in outrage.



He grabbed another apple and hurled it like a baseball. It hit the ground inches from her. She leaped back. A barrage of apples pounded the grass. Beast zigzagged like a running back with a football in his hands.



Sean leapt from the tree and sprinted in the opposite direction with inhuman speed. Beast gave chase, a streak of black and white. The camera turned as far as it could, tracking them to the edge of the property, but they vanished from view. A moment later Beast trotted back, climbed the steps, squirmed through the dog door, and collapsed on the rug, exhausted.



I cuddled her up. "Best dog ever."



Beast rubbed her face against my shirt and licked me.



"I think it's time for some treats." I got up, went to the kitchen, and took out a plastic container with beef ribs, which I'd bought specifically for that purpose. The Shih Tzu danced around my feet. I pulled a rib out and offered it to her. Beast grabbed it and took it under the table, making happy monster-dog noises.



I snapped the lid back on the container and put it in the fridge. Sean would be back. I was sure of it.



Somehow in a space of forty-eight hours, my life had gotten seriously complicated. I sighed and washed my hands. I was too tired to think. The X-ray of the stalker's body would have to wait till the morning.



Chapter Five



I stared at the X-ray image of the stalker's body. I might as well have tried to put together a thousand-piece puzzle with all the corner pieces missing. Apparently stalkers formed small bony plates in their tissues. For what purpose, I had no idea. The plates dappled the X-ray like scales on a python, and beneath this chaotic mess strange bones formed weird patterns. I had gone down to the lab as soon as I woke up and I'd been there for two hours. I hadn't been able to find the tracker. I'd tried magnets; I'd tried X-ray; I'd even tried searching for radiation, electromagnetic waves, and magic. Nothing.



No-thing. I had a body with a possible transmitter somewhere in it, which could even now be broadcasting its location to a lethal creature possibly camping in Avalon Subdivision, and I couldn't find it.



The magic splashed against me, urgent and sudden. Speak of the devil. Someone just entered the inn grounds.



I pulled my gloves off and grabbed my broom. I was getting tired of the game. If this dahaka thought the inn was an easy target, he was sorely mistaken.



I ran up the stairs, letting them seal behind me, and to the front door, toward the source of disturbance.